“My fervor is not like when I was 19, but I clearly understand why I am here.” Azov soldier Yar about 10 years of war

The fog thickens as soon as we enter the Serebrianka Forest. The blue sky is visible above the surviving dark green branches of the pine trees, and dry branches and bark crackle underfoot. The horizon is not visible through the fog, so it seems as if something sinister is hiding behind it. It is about to attack. There are no birds or animals in the forest. There are sounds of shelling from all sides. The surviving trees in the Serebrianka Forest are rare, mostly burnt and bare.

At a certain place, we leave the car and walk to the dugouts where the positions of the experienced crew are located. “A forest of miracles: you went in with legs legs and came out without them,” theAzovs soldiers say. The soldier with the call sign Yar walks fast — he is our guide today. We enter the dugout. It smells like pasta here.

“If we had known we were going to have guests, we would have cooked more,” theboys tell us.

But we don't have time for hospitality.

“Let's go on,” Yar quickly replies, “Cossacks, stay well.”

We leave the newly recruited soldier and then go deeper into the forest with Yar to other positions.

“As if somewhere in the Zaporozhian Sich”

We meet Yar shortly after his birthday. This is the guy's sixth or seventh birthday in the war, and he doesn't even remember exactly which one.

“We got together with the company, bought some meat and spent time in a family circle. I like it so much, it's better than at home. Because there, relatives come and it starts: ‘What's up, Ihor? You're closer there, you probably know better when it's over?’”

Yar is 28 years old. He is a short blond guy with a beard and green eyes. The first thing we notice when we meet him is his tattoo: a large trident on his neck. Yar’s acquaintance did it in the summer of 2022. Pasha Rudenko, a tattoo artist, also joined the Armed Forces after the full-scale invasion: “Now he is destroying Russians with FPV drones.”

For Yar, the trident is a sacred symbol that cannot be worn by a person who is indifferent to the events in the country.

He himself has been involved since childhood. And all because of his grandmother. She was left an orphan because her father, as she said, was killed just because he was Ukrainian. Her grandson heard a lot about these events and the UPA's struggle from her. And also about people who did not care. And then Ihor could hear the condemnation in his grandmother's voice.

“I remember condemning these people at the time: ‘How is it that the war has come and they are closing down and doing nothing?’ And then I thought: "’What would I have done?’”

The Maidan showed and defined everything. Back then, 17-year-old Ihor and his friends traveled from their native Lviv to Kyiv to participate in the Revolution of Dignity. He tried to be at the most important events of the Maidan, including February 18-20.

“I knew that we had to be there (on Maidan — ed.) at that moment. The level of self-organization was very high. It was the first time I had ever seen such a thing in my life, I felt like I was somewhere in the Zaporozhian Sich, and I was surrounded by like-minded people. Even then, I realized that I was participating in historical events, and this place is probably the most important on Earth right now,” says Yar.

Every year, he recalls the events of 2014, looks at photos and searches for new videos. If he can, he tries to come to the Maidan.

“I remember the moment when the whole mass of people were running down Instytutska Street. I'm running with everyone. I jump over an overturned school desk so that there is still room. The adrenaline is so strong. I hide behind the barricade and only then do I realize what is happening, why everyone is running: the first hits on the protesters begin. Almost everyone hid, but my comrades stayed put. They are setting tires on fire to make a smoke screen. I sit behind the barricade and think about what to do: ‘Am I going to be indifferent and run away, or am I going to help my friends?’ It was a turning point for me,” theAzov fighter recalls.

Then Yar took a shield from someone and ran to help his comrades. More shooting started. In 15-20 meters, he says, the first shooters were already there.

“When I was crossing the road, it seemed to me that everyone was seeing me right now. It was a stressful moment that blocked many memories from that day. After the Maidan, I realized that I could not help but be involved in the important social and political processes taking place in our country,” says Yar.

So he got his degree in construction at college, and in 2015 he joined the Azov volunteer battalion as an artilleryman.

“It's much easier to experience fear here”

We get in the car and drive to the next point, Yar is at the wheel. It becomes harder to drive through the swamp in some places. We leave the car and walk to our destination — one of the positions. Here, Yar picks up a soldier to take him to the place of deployment of the unit, where he can wash and rest.

“Do you have any civilian friends?” Iask Ihor.

“I definitely have no friends. I have lost contact with many acquaintances because they are not involved in the socio-political situation in the country. My best friends are also at war. One of my comrades in Azov is Ihor Halushko, with whom we were together on the Maidan in 2014. He has been lucky ever since. He had a metal shield, and we were on the extreme barricade. Ihor was looking out to see where the golden eagles were, and then we saw a small bullet hole in his shield. After Maidan, he immediately joined the ATO.”

Yar says it is much easier to experience fear here than in civilian life and be constantly afraid:“Here, you already know what can happen to you, and to a certain extent, you have accepted it. And there, people sit and are constantly afraid, running away, it's hard for me to understand. That's why I'm relieved that I'm here and it doesn't bother me.”

Yar considers the events of the ATO/JFO to be a kind of “training ground” for what is happening now.

“It is very good that a full-scale invasion did not take place in 2014-2015. We would not have been ready for it. Until 2022, we had enough time to go through training ranges and exercises, to master weapons,” says Yar. “I can't imagine a full-scale war without it. It is illogical.”

“We were sure we would not live to see the summer”

Ihor stayed in Azov from 2015 to 2020, where he served in the 82nd mortar crew. It was then, he says, that he understood how Soviet artillery guidance worked, which came in handy in 2022. During these 5 years, Ihor served in Pavlopil, Marinka, and Shyrokyne. His last deployment in 2019 to the Svitlodarsk bulge was the most difficult for him. He spent 9 months there.

“I remember we were digging a dugout and setting up a position very close to the enemy, 100-200 meters away,” Yar says.

During that trip, he lost a close friend, Kruhlyi.

“We tried to combine war and rest. We would go to the village of Novoluhanske, a few kilometers from our positions, and play football. We were supposed to go back to our positions with Kruhlyi to help our guys dig a dugout, but he didn't take us, he went alone. That night, the Russians' professional artillery fired on their positions. He and another friend, Makson, were killed, and several guys were wounded,” Yar recalls.

In 2020, when Ihor was 25, he decided to return to civilian life, to his native Lviv.

“What were these two years of civilian life like?” I ask the man.

“So f*cking good”.

During this time, Ihor tried to devote as much time as possible to his studies, learning English. Before lunch, he had one course, and after that, another. Ihor absorbed everything like a sponge. In between classes, he practiced on the sports field. That's how the first six months passed. Then he got a job in a coffee shop to see how the business works from the inside. Later, he opened his first “Military Coffee Shop” in Lviv, a cozy place where military men and like-minded people can gather. It is still open today, while Yar is at war. For him, this coffee shop is a small outlet and a connection to civilian life.

In the late winter of 2022, there was no longer any doubt that a great war would begin. Two weeks before February 24, Ihor packed his backpack and waited. He wanted to join like-minded Azov fighters, but they were in Mariupol, so it was impossible. Together with the former Maidan activists, he joined the 80th Air Assault Brigade.

“In early 2022, we all came and looked at each other:

— So, are we joining the artillery?

— Let's go.

— Guys, you all realize that we're going to die, right?

— Yes.

— It's a pity.

We were sure that we would not live to see the summer. But the summer passed, and we believed in ourselves.”

“I clearly understand why I am here”

In 2023, Ihor returned to Azov. Now he is engaged in combat work with the Grad MLRS crews, organizing the crew's departure to the firing line, selecting positions and ensuring the return of people.

“What will we call the firing position?” his comrade asks Yar when we stop in the middle of the forest once again. The soldiers are looking closely at the surrounding area and studying the map.

“Well” Ihor thinks, “it should be something related to Lviv.

“Oh, come on,” fellows jokingly indignantly say.

"Let's call it Kulparkivska”.

“How?”

“Kul-par-kiv-ska”.

“What is it?”

“A place where we will all go after the war.”

“Valhalla?”

“Almost. The most famous psychiatric hospital in Lviv”.

In a few hours, the morning fog of the Serebrianka Forest dissipates. More and more often, we hear the sound of our artillery.

“Would I like to be at home now, doing my own thing?” Yar reflects, “Yes, I would, but only if there are no armed soldiers on our borders killing our people. Not to be directly involved in important processes, in defense... it's hard for me to imagine. Of course, the enthusiasm and fervor are not the same as they were when I was 19 years old when I came. But now I clearly understand why I am here.”

* * *

In 2016, Hromadske already filmed Ihor, who had just come home from the service on vacation.

“It's a pity that so many people died [on Maidan — ed.], but their deaths were not in vain. Maidan is the beginning of great changes,” Ihor said at the time.

Eight years after that interview, Yar thinks the same way. During the few hours we spent with him, he was on the phone solving work-related issues and worried that he wouldn't have time to complete all his assignments because of us.

Yar thinks about his words as he speaks. He speaks carefully and calmly. Over the years, Ihor has matured considerably. Despite his age, he has already seen and experienced a lot.

The material was created with the support of Mediamerezhi.